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TWILIGHT 

AND OTHER VERSE 



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AND OTHER VERSE 


By Walter Clarke Rodman 


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PHILADELPHIA 


PrmteD tor |)ntoate Cirralatian 


By J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 


1915 



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COPYRIGHT, 19IS, BY WALTER CLARKE RODMAN 



AUG 20 1915 

©Ci.A411151 



To 
L. N. R. 

TO ONE WHOSE GENTLE SPIRIT IS TO MINE 
COMPANION STILL, THOUGH SIGHT AND TOUCH NO MORE 
MAY RECOGNIZE HER PRESENCE, I DEVOTE 
AND DEDICATE THIS RECORD OF MY THOUGHTS 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Twilight 9 

Faith's April 10 

Lost, A Day H 

Angels 12 

The Word Eternal 13 

Faith and the Voice 14 

His Narrow Way 15 

Ask Him 16 

Grapes, or Wild Grapes? 17 

Jesus Wept 18 

In Adria 19 

At Bethany 21 

Esther 22 

Hannah 22 

Mary 23 

Out of Doors in the Holy Land 24 

At the Cross Roads 25 

Old and New Year 26 

The Coral Isles 27 

Grass, Leaves and Wistaria 28 

The Sunset Sea 29 

Sleep 30 

Christmas 31 

The Greatest of These 32 

Compensation 33 

Faith Effective 34 

Seeing and Believing 35 

The Trysting Place 36 

May Time 37 

The Cipher 38 

7 



Contents 

PAGE 

The Philosopher 39 

The Last Mosquito 40 

My Sweetheart, Spring 41 

To Mother at Seventy 42 

Lovers' Hearts 43 

Stolen Sweets 44 

The Mound 45 

Across the Table 46 

Home's Queen 47 

At Midnight 48 

Lasting Love 48 

The Clock Strikes 49 

Away 50 

March Winds 51 

Madonna , 52 

Night and Morning 53 

Loved and Lost Awhile 54 

Forgiven, not Forgotten 55 

Petition 56 

A Rhyme of Days 56 

When I Pass On 58 

Finis? 59 



TWILIGHT 

Soft shadows gather in the afternoon; 

And as the mellow sunlight wanes and fades, 

There comes a grateful stillness. 

Twilight falls, 
And Nature, in her myriad motherly ways 
Invites to peace and quiet. 

Oh how sweet 
Is rest, contented rest, when work is done! 
No more the burden of the blinding day; 
No more the tiring task, the anxious thought. 
The restless longing and the feverish haste; 
No more the greed of praise, the fear of blame; 
No more the care, the worry — nay, no more 
Of anything that frets; only sweet rest. 

How hushed the air; the earth, how strangely still; 
But see, there faintly glints a friendly star. 
That brighter glows each moment, as 'twould say, 
*'Fear not the night, I'll bide and watch with thee. 



FAITH'S APRIL 

One dreary April day, Spring dropped asleep 
And dreamt of Winter; and in tender showers 
Fell unrestrained her tears, till bird-voiced May 
With cheery carol chased the dream away. 
Then Spring delighted woke, forgot to weep, 

And smiHng, crowned her blest ally with flowers. 

Faith's April 'tis, when bold in dreams, unsought. 
Called from the wintry past she knows not how, 
Doubts conquered once, in wild rebellion throng. 
Faith weeps in fear, but Hope, with soulful song 
Routs the grim troop, and Faith with flowers of thought, 
Glad, pure and holy, decks her sister's brow. 



LOST, A DAY 

"Lost, lost, lost, a day 
Out of my life on earth. 
Ho, crier, haste and clang thy bell; 
Speed through the crowd; 
Cry long and loud 
My loss, and tell 
Its priceless worth. 
Here's thrice thy pay!" 

"Nay, friend," the crier said; 
" Keep in thy purse thy gold. 
Oft have I cried the loss of days, 
Cried far and wide, 
But vainly cried. 
Nay, go thy ways; 
The tale is old; 
Thy day is dead." 

Dead, lost, wasted day! 
Yet shalt thou live again 

In many a sad tomorrow still; 
Thy words and deeds, 
Like noxious weeds 
Bear fruit of ill 
Through life — and then 
For aye and aye! 



II 



ANGELS 

Oft in some kindly face we see 
A pledge of immortality, 
As in the gleam of gentle eyes 
We catch a glimpse of Paradise. 

What's Heaven? A realm remote, as far 
As yon dim, coldly distant star; 
With lofty gates that ne'er unlock 
Save at the self-assurant knock 
Of saints elect? 

Nay, never so! 
Heaven's homely door is near and low; 
And one may enter there, nor guess 
The portal passed; yet none the less 
May bide within, though plodding still 
With patient footsteps, up the hill. 

He dwells in Heaven, whose heart-beats chime 

With Youth's ideals; whom Care and Time 

Would age in vain. His soul is young. 

For joy is his own mother-tongue. 

Simple his life; his only arts — 

The word of cheer to drooping hearts; 

The ready smile; the generous hand; 

The sympathy to understand, 

The grace to soothe another's woes; 

His own, forgetting to disclose. 

He who thus loves to live, 'tis he 
Has Heaven's Open Sesame! 

12 



THE WORD ETERNAL 

Isaiah xl, 6-8. 

Cry, said the Voice; and answering the call, 

What shall I cry? said he. 
Cry that all flesh is grass, and cry that all 

Its goodliness shall be 
As is the field-flower. 

Withered is the grass, 

And faded is the flower. 
Because the Spirit of the Lord doth pass 

Upon them in their hour. 
The grass must wither and the flower must fade; 

The Word of Him whose hand 
The grass, the flower, and mortal flesh hath made, 

Forevermore shall stand. 

Ye mote-discerning scribes of latter-day, 

With misused eyes who look 
Through earth-made lenses, keen to steal away 

God's sanction from His Book, 
Whereof one jot or tittle shall not pass 

'Till He fulfilleth all; 
To Him ye are but upstart blades of grass. 

And at a breath ye fall. 
Know this, that when ye too shall fade and die, 

What time the Lord may will. 
His Word, in spite of critics low or high, 

Shall stand unshaken still! 



13 



FAITH AND THE VOICE 

Faith from the heights 
Looks down and sighs; 
For to her eyes 
Come saddening sights. 
Beneath her feet she marks a weary mass 

Of men with muck-rakes, groping in the mire 
For chance-gold; there she sees the idlers pass 
With empty hands, and rags for scant attire. 
Lurking in yonder shade 
Waits desperate Crime, 
With Misery, his maid, 

And bides his time. 
Lust, Vice and Fraud 
Ride f^auntingly abroad, 
While Virtue plods the byways, half afraid. 

"How long," again 

Sighs Faith, "How long 
Shall Want and Wrong 
Rule over men? 
Is that Millennium all a myth? Can God 

Forget His children?" Soft a Voice replies, 
'Did I not suffer too, and kiss the rod?" 
Faith lifts her face to the illumined skies 
And whispers "It is He! 

Complaining heart, be dumb 
And wait, for thou shalt see 

His Kingdom come. 
Day conquers Night, 
And Wrong shall yield to Right; 
Thou seest Time; God sees Eternity." 

14 



HIS NARROW WAY 

Matt, vii, 14 

I've trod Thy narrow path all day. 

I'm heartsick, footsore, weak; 
So steep and stony is the way 

Thy Scripture bade me seek. 
With vague regret I think on those 
Who laughing, idling, pluck the rose 

Along the highway 

That is not Thy way. 



My prisoned soul shall soar, I know 

At last on Heavenward wings; 
Meantime, with painful steps I go, 

And long for earthly things; 
Doubting if endless peace requites 
A lifetime barren of delights — 

Rest everlasting 

This mortal fasting. 



O self deceived ! My way is strewn 

With violets; arched with vine. 
That rugged hill-road is thine own, 

A travesty of Mine. 
Though found by few, for thee it wends 
Through pleasant pastures, and ascends 

A path of flowers 

To Zion's towers. 

IS 



His Narrow Way 

An easy yoke, a burden light 

I promised tiiee. What need 
To doubt if Heaven can requite 

A penance self-decreed? 
Go, seek again; nor shalt thou miss 
On earth, full meed of human bliss, 

Treadst thou the byway 

That's truly My way. 



ASK HIM 

Johnix, 21 

Shall we presume to say how those blind eyes — 
Eyes we have loved and pitied in their plight. 
Have on a sudden opened to the light. 

And seen God's sunshine out of blackness rise? 

We knew our son was blind, and we have wept 
To see him wandering, stumbling, falling oft. 
We tried to lead him, with persuasion soft 

As love can make it; but an anguish crept 

Into our hearts and dwelt there. He was blind, 
Aye, from his birth he saw not. But today 
He sees! No longer shall he miss the way; 

No longer fall or stumble. He shall find 

Safe guidance, though our own eyes maj^ grow dim. 
But ask not us the means; we know no more 
Than that he sees, whom we knew blind before. 

Lo, there he stands; he is of age; ask him! 



i6 



GRAPES, OR WILD GRAPES? 

Isaiah v 

God fenced His vineyard all about. 
And all the stones He gathered out. 
He -planted there the choicest vine. 
A tower He built; a press for wine. 
He looked to bring forth grapes, and lo. 
Wild grapes zvere all it would bestow. 

Thou heart of mine, fair vineyard proudly set 

Upon a fruitful hill; so blest, and yet 

So prone to failure! God hath guarded thee 

From inward menace and from outward foe; 
Hath planted in thy midst a living tree, 

Thine easy task to merely let it grow. 
Useless the winepress, for so hard thou art, 
The grapes it bears are wild, thou flinty heart. 

' Twixt Him and His, implored He them 
Of Judah and Jerusalem 
To judge, and say what could He more 
Have done; and why His vineyard bore 
Wild grapes instead of grapes; and why 
His vine should thus His hope deny? 

God asks thee why? What answer canst thou make? 
O heart, thou idly slumbering heart, awake! 
Drink the soft rain, the fervent sunshine which 

He daily sends thee, and with all thy strength 
Give to His vine a life so warm, so rich 

With good, that when thine Autumn comes at length, 
His hand shall gladly gather from the vine 
Good grapes that pressed shall yield Him perfect wine. 

3 17 



JESUS WEPT 

John xi, 35 
He was a man of sorrows, and acquaint 

With grief, and when they led Him where one lay 

Whom He had loved, He wept; and who can say 
How ached His human heart? But not for this, 

That Lazarus had died. Nay, how could One 
Who knew the grave a door to greater bliss. 

Have wept at such promotion? 'Twas that none 
Believed in Him, but inly made complaint 

Of His indifference, as Mary cried 
"Hadst Thou been here, my brother had not died!" 

Yet He was glad He was not there! How curt 
A saying, out of lips that breathed but Love; 

For had He hasted, He had spared the hurt 
Of parting, and the hours of tearful grief, 
Bitter no less because they were so brief. 

Nay, to have saved him were indeed a sign, 
But thus to raise him proved a power above 

All earthly ken, the strength of Love Divine! 
For thus He loved, and so He loves to-day, 
When but to give again, He takes away. 



IN ADRIA 

Acts xxvii, 29 

"Then fearing lest they should have fallen upon rocks, 
they cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for day." 

The Men. How dark the night; the sea, how fear- 
some high; 
The wind, how furiously keen! 
In Adria's deeps 'twere easier to die, 

Than hurled on rocks unseen, 
To perish twice. 

The Master. Out with our anchor there, 

Endurance named. A mighty strain 

'twill bear. 
I've proved it oft in raging tempests 
when 
Death walked expectant on the leeward 
shore. 

The Men. We're lost; the anchor drags! 

The Master. Then try again, 

And speak that word no more. 
For here is Hope, an anchor good and 
strong. 
It grips to anything 
That seems to offer foothold, and as long 
As night endures, 'twill cling. 

19 



In Adria 

The Men. Hope fails us too — see how we drive — 
Come, Death! 

The Master. Try Resignation. All but lost, 

I cast this anchor, and in one long 
breath 
It found a hold, and though 'twas 
rudely tossed. 
Our ship thus cheated Death. 

The Men. All three are dragging. Let's give o'er 
and wait 
The end inevitable. It is Fate. 

The Master. Peace! I've a sure deliverance here at 
hand; 
Its name is Faith. It cannot fail. 
'Twill make 
Its bed below the seething, shifting 
sand 
And hold till morning break. 



The Men. Shall morning come? Oh, for the day- 
light! 

The Master. Yea; 

Safe, by four anchors held, our ship 

shall ride. 
But still the night is dark, and rough 
the tide. 
Trusting, yet longs the heart for break of 
Day; 



In Adria 

The day when all to endure has been 
endured; 
When, to the worst resigned, we've gained 
the best; 
When Hope fruition finds, and Faith 
has cured 
The heart of longing, and the soul finds 
rest. 



AT BETHANY 

John xi, 5 Luke x, 38 

Beloved of Jesus were the three 

He visited at Bethany. 
Martha, with serving cumbered, full of care. 
And troubled over many things, dwelt there; 
Mary, the teachable, whose trustful heart 
Inevitably chose the better part; 
And Lazarus, who died that he might show 
The power that LOVE possesses to bestow 
The gift of life. 

We too may entertain 
At home that royal guest. 

Care frets in vain 
When at His feet we kneel, who can restore 
Our buried souls to life, forevermore 

Blest, like the little family 

He visited at Bethany. 



21 



ESTHER 

Esther ii, is 

Hadassah, quaintest name in Jewish lore, 

Discarded for that stately duplicate, 

The Persian Esther; men shall celebrate 
Her virtues until Adar is no more, 
And Purim lost to mind. One deed before 

All others, least remarked, most proves her great; 

'Twas that she chose all unadorned to wait 
The king's decision. Other maidens wore 

Whate'er they would of costly ornament 

When to the royal presence they were sent; 
She wisely chose upon her brow to show, 

By womanhood's pure instinct well advised, 
No gem but virgin modesty, and lo. 

She was beloved, enthroned, immortalized! 



HANNAH 

I Samuel i, ii 

Hannah, beloved but childless, sobbed a prayer 
Unspoken, that her yearning arms might hold 
A son; but after Ell's word foretold 

Her hope's fulfilment, she forgot her care 

And wept no more. Yet she did not forswear 
Her vow. By loyal gratitude controlled 
She led her son into the sacred fold 

And lent him to the Lord. 

22 



Hannah 

Can anywhere 
Except In Mary's noble song, be found 
Such words of praise majestic as resound 
Through Hannah's invocation? 

Not despised 
Her sacrifice; for Samuel, her son, 
Anointed kings; in him was realized 

The greatness of the deed that she had done. 



MARY 

Luke i, 46 

Mother of Jesus! Who could breathe her name 
With less than reverence? The call divine 
To motherhood she answered with no sign 

Of maidenly confusion or of shame. 

But with a simple eloquence that came 
From pure humility. One deathless line — 
"Afy soul doth magnify the Lord'' — so fine, 

So dignified it is, that Mary's fame 
Might rest secure upon those words alone, 
Had not the greater honor been her own 

Of bearing HIM, the Saviour of us all. 
Hail, Mary, by all generations blest! 

Of women whom the Holy Books recall, 
Dearer thy memory than all the rest. 



23 



OUT OF DOORS IN THE HOLY LAND 

(Inscribed in a copy of Vandyke's Book of that Title] 

In that far sacred land 

Where trod the Saviour's feet, 
Grow field flowers fair and sweet. 

Olive and cedar stand 

Upon the mountain sides. 
There gleams blue Galilee, 
And to the sunken sea 

The hastening Jordan glides. 

Ah to be there and look 

On scenes that met His eyes, 

Feeling the spell that lies 
On all! To know His Book 
As only one can do 

Who sees the happenings, 

The folk, the very things 
Its pages bring to view! 



24 



AT THE CROSS-ROADS 

A New Year Fancy 

Footsore, I halted where the travelled road, 
That mire-encumbered highway called To-day, 
Confronts the velvet-pathed, inviting way 

That's named To-morrow. 

As I loosed the load 

From off my long vexed shoulders, "Lie thou there,' 

I cried, "thou hateful, chafing weight of care! 

I'll carry thee no further." For 'tis known 
That at this station makes the Old Year pause 
To greet the New. I tarried there because 

I planned to meet the ancient all alone 
And cast my burden on him, and I smiled 
To think of the poor dotard thus beguiled. 

At midnight came they both, to meet — and part. 
I grasped the Old Year's tattered cloak; he fled 
And left me holding but a parted shred. 

The aching of my disappointed heart 

Was like to break it; but I stooped to raise 
Again my load of care and go my ways 

Despairing, when behold, the proud New Year, 
Turning his godlike face, that seemed to shine 
With faith and high resolve, looked into mine. 
'Come," he said, beckoning; "be of better cheer; 
I'll help thee bear it." Thus, with lightened load 
And hope renewed, I took the mornward road. 



25 



OLD AND NEW YEAR 

Begone, unsightly shape, I'm tired of thee; 
I hate thy grizzled poll, thy wrinkled brow; 
I hate thy cavernous, accusing eyes, 
Thy ragged garb; but most of all I hate 
This pack of troubles I have borne for thee. 
With it and thee this night I'll part — begone! 

And thou, fair stranger, welcome to my door. 
I love thy smiling face, thy merry glance, 
Thy golden locks, thy spotless robe, thy step — 
So light it falls upon the path; come in 
And be my favored guest. 

So; there he goes — 
Patient and unresentful, tottering 
Oblivionwardj beyond my wearied ken. 
Why throbs my heart as if he took with him 
Something I miss, some part of me, and left 
A strange, self-pitying ache in place of it.? 

Sighing, I turn to entertain my guest, 

But wondering, find myself alone. With haste 

I seek the window, and behold, far off. 

Turning a mocking face he hastens on. 

Yet beckons "follow me;" and so I must — 

Into what unknown region? 

Oh, forgive. 
Thou parted year, the hasty gibes I spoke. 
Old friends are best; old troubles easier 
26 



Old and New Year 

To bear than new; familiar blessings more 
To be esteemed than bliss that is not yet 
Except in dreams; old faiths more nourishing 
To hungry souls than crude experiments. 
I turn, and there upon the floor I mark 
The same old pack of troubles, left behind! 
Courage; I know its weight; 'twas never yet 
Beyond my strength. I'll on my way again. 



THE CORAL ISLES 
Green isles there are in southern seas. 

By graceful palm trees nobly crowned; 
The waves, coquetting with the breeze, 

Play harmlessly the shores around. 
And yet each isle, that now appears 

As old as Earth, first came to light 
When through long myriads of years 

Had lived and died the zoophyte. 

Each tiny creature heedless came 

To being, and as heedless went 
Through life, and dying left its frame 

To be its lasting monument; 
Until at length, o'er surging waves, 

An island reared its modest head, 
And verdure decked the hidden graves 

Of countless generations dead. 

27 



The Coral Isles 

So is our own existence wrought; 

Each dying day bequeathing still, 
Deep hid below the waves of thought, 

Its legacy of good or ill. 
And when at length our little isle 

Above the sea shall rear its crest, 
The setting sun shall kindly smile 

Upon a verdant shore of rest. 



GRASS, LEAVES AND WISTARIA 

[For an Eightieth Birthday] 

Outside my window there, lies fairyland; 

For May, the queen, has with her sceptre's touch 

Transformed the world, A million million fays, 

Drest in bright green, are ranked upon the sward; 

Ten million more swing saucily above, 

Where lifeless, leafless branches hung before; 

And see, where late that crumbling tree-trunk drooped, 

Clasped by a dingy parasite, a burst 

Of purple glory crowns it now, as fair 

As dreams of Heaven, and perfumed like 

The breath of angels. 

Thou, Memory, 
Art Fairy Queen of life. At touch of thine. 
The common things of thought are glorified. 
That magic word Remember works a change 
In things that are, and makes them things that were; 
Yet not just as they were, but mellowed; clad 
In softer colors, and of rarer scent. 

The years 
Roll b^ck; the Winter's gone; 'tis May again! 
28 



THE SUNSET SEA 

Unto the great sea toward the going down of the sun.' 
Jos. i, 4 

Our way is westward, and beyond the ring 
Of our horizon lies the Sunset Sea. 

However long the journey, it must bring 

Our footsteps to the shore, and then must we 
Take ship on that unknown immensity. 

How shall we fare upon its heaving flood? 

No wonder that we shiver on the brink, 
And that with trembling lips and chilling blood 
We stand aghast and fearsome, as we think 

Into what depths abysmal we may sink. 

But Death, our helmsman, beckons us aboard. 
Reluctant, we embark, and so depart — 

For what arrival.^ Anguished by a horde 
Of sombre memories, the fluttering heart 
Is charged with apprehension from the start. 

Better such honest dread, than self deceit; 

What of the comfortable souls that know 
And boast their sure salvation; shall they meet 

Fulfilment of their hopes, or gasping go 

Astonished, into everlasting woe? 

Or fear or confidence, 'tis all too late! 

We leave the world, but with our fatal past 
We cannot break. The things we love or hate 

Through life, are loved or hated at the last; 

Already the deciding die is cast, 
29 



The Sunset Sea 

And our arrival shall be such as we 

Ourself have destined it. The port we find 

Is not appointed by the stern decree 
Of Deity; our inmost thoughts divined, 
Death lands us in the country of our kind. 



SLEEP 

The wonder of it! Nightly we compose 
Our minds to slumber, and with soft caress 

Good Mother Nature, as our eyelids close, 
Lulls us to drowsiness. 

We know no more until we wake, renewed 
In strength and courage, to another day; 

Eager to cope with Fortune; in the mood 
To conquer, come what may. 

Greater the wonder, that foreboding naught 
That in the darkness of the night may chance, 

We yield ourselves to sleep without a thought, 
In trustful ignorance. 

"This night thy soul shall be required of thee;"- 
Who thinks of this at bed-time? Otherwise 
A curse were sleep, so fearful should we be 
To close our wearied eyes. 

Thou best of blessings! Hard the lot of those 
To whom thou art denied; how happy they 

Whose nights are thine, in comforting repose. 
Till breaks Eternal Day. 

30 



CHRISTMAS 

Led by a Httle Child, the heart 

Goes forth at Christmastide 
To scenes from baser things apart, 

And Love walks on beside. 

Gifts and caresses; tender thought, 

Soft smile and gentle speech, 
Are freely to the altar brought 

By dear ones, each for each. 

Oh for the time when Jesus' name 

Our hearts may occupy 
Throughout the year's full round, the same 

As now, with Christmas nigh. 

Lead on, dear Child; and Love, be thou 

Beside us all the way; 
So may we keep not only now 

But always, Christmas Day. 



31 



"THE GREATEST OF THESE" 

[For a Wedding Day] 

"Faith, Hope and Love; these three abide;' 
Thus the apostle, long ago; 
And may it with you two be so, 
Whatever else betide. 

FAITH in each other always, and 
In Him who doeth all things well, 
Be yours, as happily you dwell 

And journey hand in hand. 

May HOPE be ever at your door. 

To say, when clouds obscure the blue, 
"Be sure the sun will soon shine through 
Still brighter than before." 

And as a fondly cherished guest 

May LOVE abide with you, for he — 
So says The Book — is of these three 

The greatest and the best. 



32 



COMPENSATION 

Time, with an hourglass and a scythe, 

Stands ready at the stile, 
And for each pilgrim, sad or blithe, 

He marks another mile. 
Poor wearied limbs, ah, how they ache! 

But every step counts one. 
And leaves one step the less to take 

Before the journey's done. 

Time turns his glass, year in, year out, 

As every hour goes by; 
Then with his scythe he lays about 

'Mid roadside grasses high. 
What if the wild-flowers cringe and fall, 

The daisies and the rest.'' 
Dame Earth will make a place for all 

To lie, upon her breast. 

Let Winter come, and gently spread 

His soft white mantle o'er 
Their faded beauty; they are dead, 

Yet shall they live once more. 
They died to mark Time's ruthless track, 

But Winter cannot bide 
Forever; Spring will bring them back. 

And fairer flowers beside! 



33 



FAITH EFFECTIVE 

'The substance of things hoped for." — Heb. xi, i 

What we aspire to be 
And with all faith essay, 

That beyond question we 
Shall be some day. 

The things we would possess, 

Believing, we acquire; 
Fate's NO is turned to YES 

By strong desire. 

To know this must give pause 

To him of sober mind 
And humble heart, because 
"Who seeks, shall find;" 

And what is sought, is found; 

So let him seek the best, 
And blessings without bound 

Shall crown his quest. 



34 



SEEING AND BELIEVING 

Heb. xi, I 

If Faith be, as the Scriptures tell, 
The evidence of things not seen, 
What may not to believers mean 

The marvels visible as well? 

Life; death; the starry skies; the sun; 
The birds' return; the seed which dies 
That fruit may from its grave arise; 

The dawn that breaks when night is done;- 

The doubter takes for granted these; 

To all beyond his ken, is blind; 

The faithful one delights to find 
God proved in everything he sees; 

But Earth's horizon does not bound 
His vision; things beyond the skies 
Are known to his believing eyes. 

And fill his heart with peace profound. 



35 



THE TRYSTING PLACE 

We lingered in tiie wood, 

My love and I; 

None else was nigh, 
And she, in generous mood, 
Gave kiss for kiss. Oh, happy, happy day. 

So far away. 

We loved, and we were young. 
Let none gainsay 
Young Love's old way. 
By poets gaily sung, 
When lips crave toll, and willing lips respond 
In payment fond. 



We loitered through the wood. 

My wife and I; 

And passing by 
That love-blest neighborhood. 
Our eyes met meaningly; we stayed our pace 

At the old place, 

And there again we kissed. 

And whispering clung. 

Must Love be young? 
Nay, for we nothing missed 
Of Youth's joy-laden, unforgotten day. 

Or Love's old way! 



36 



MAY-TIME 

Never upon the willow hung 

His harp; and when the year was young 

And all the roadside bloomed aflame, 

Along the way the poet came; 

Yet while entranced he swept the strings, 

The music was not his, but Spring's. 

Joy in the heart will out in song; 
Nor verse nor lilt can go far wrong 
When Love elated beats the time 
And bids the poet mate his rhyme 
With melody; yet when he sings, 
The lyric is not his, but Spring's. 

When May inspires the poet's heart 
With faithful purpose to impart 
To earnest souls the meaning clear 
Of that great hope which every year 
Dead Nature's resurrection brings, 
The message is not his, but Spring's. 



37 



THE CIPHER 

I SEE him now, dejected, bent 

With worries, more than years; 
Garb threadbare; eyes downcast; intent — 

Not on how he appears, 
But — how to pay some paltry debt; 

The chance of his next meal; 
The thousand cares and one, that fret 

The honest ne'er-do-weel. 

I see him growing shabbier still; 

His footsteps faltering, slow, 
As 'tis when tottering down the hill 

Life's luckless failures go. 
Time was, when love and hope and youth 

Were his, and dreams, alas! 
Of things to be achieved. In sooth, 

They never came to pass. 

Over his lonesome grave is kept 

No satire carved in stone; 
No eyes remark the spot except 

The sexton's and my own. 
Let me his epitaph condense 

To this; He nothing brought 
Into the world; took nothing thencey 

And left behind him naught. 



38 



THE PHILOSOPHER 

What though he have no cheese to lay- 
Between his fragments of dry bread? 

He will not care; 
And if the moon be overhead, 

He'll slyly peep at her and say 
"There's plenty there!" 

Or possibly his playful mind 

Recalls "the plans of mice and men;" 

"The mouse and I 

Will not grow fat," he sighs; but when 
All's done, some crumbs he leaves behind — 
The mouse knows why. 

But should nor bread nor cheese appear, 
He gives his belt another pull, 

And looking up 
Observes, "At least the moon is full;" 
In water then, to her good cheer 
He quaffs a cup. 

'Gainst such a man says Envy naught, 

Nor Malice taunts him with her laugh. 
The world well lost. 
He dies without an epitaph, 

Knows not what lesson he has taught, 
Nor counts the cost. 



39 



THE LAST MOSQUITO 

Nay, live, thou slender, flighty thing, 

Frail relic of a fleeting past; 
Stern Winter all too soon shall bring 

Thy ruin in his chilly blast. 

Live! let no heartless mortal wreak 

A mean revenge on thee because 
Thou tookst, forsooth, in playful freak, 

His cuticle within thy jaws. 

I harm thee? No! be not afraid. 

Such gay conceits from thee I glean! 
Who knows? Perchance thou mayst have played 

Upon the bosom of the Queen ! 

Perchance thy veins convey a stream 

Of princely blood. Well may it be 
Thy tuneful voice has been the theme 

Of beauty and nobility. 

But stay. 'Twere sacrilege to blend 

Blood royal with plebeian. Why, 
Still mayst thou, dapper knight, descend 

E'en to such humble game as L 

Avaunt the thought! I reverence 

Thy lofty past; but earth is rife 
With pleasures that degrade, and hence 

With loyal hand I take thy life. 



40 



MY SWEETHEART, SPRING 

I HEAR her call, 

My sweetheart, Spring. 
How soft, how clear 
The far notes fall, 
My ravished ear 
Enrapturing. 

Make haste, my own! 
Too slow thy flight. 
With thee away, 
I've grieved alone 

Through lagging day 
And lonesome night. 

She'll come — and fly; 
Too swift her wing. 
A smile — a kiss — 
No more; then I 

Must mourn and miss 
My sweetheart, Spring. 



She's here, she's here — 
My sweetheart, Spring! 
Staying her flight, 
She hovers near; 

Her pinions white 
All quivering. 

41 



My Sweetheart, Spring 

She's here — she's mine! 
Her pure lips cling 
To mine, and tell 
Of joys divine. 

At last all's well- 
She's here, my Spring! 



TO MOTHER AT SEVENTY 

'Tis true thy snowy hair and furrowed brow 
Tell their own silent story; yet with eyes 

Bright and courageous as of old, see'st thou 
Thy seventieth milestone in the pathway rise. 

Thou look'st not back; for now thine eye may note 
The goal before thee, and thine eager ear 

Catch the first murmured welcomes as they float 
On waves ethereal, exquisitely clear; 

Welcomes from loving lips, for at the Gate, 
Standing with hands outreached and eyes aglow 

With love-light, see how many dear ones wait 
To fold thee close, remembering long ago. 

But stay — be not too eager to be gone ! 

Still may'st thou rest awhile as 'round thy knee 
Young faces cluster, shining just as shone 

Thy children's own. Still may'st thou wait and see 
42 



To Mother at Seventy 

How fares it here with loved ones thou must leave 
To follow thee. But be thy later years 

Full of sweet peace. May no new loss bereave 

Thy heart, nor dim thy dear bright eyes with tears. 

Be sunshine on thy pathway to the end; 

And be it thine to know, from first to last, 
That loving hands thy steps will fondly tend 

Until thy days of journeying are past. 



LOVERS' HEARTS 

When lovers' hearts are warm and true, 

A word, a glance will set them beating. 
And start the trembling cords anew 

Love's own delicious tune repeating; 
And when the word, the glance, are past, 

Dear memory will backward wander, 
And make the fond heart, to the last, 

Grow moment after moment fonder. 

When lovers' eyes enchanted dwell 

On eyes that bear the gaze unchiding, 
They need no spoken word to tell 

The thoughts that in their breasts are hiding. 
Yet from the heart's abundant store 

The ready lips are ever taking. 
And though they've told it o'er and o'er. 

Their tender theme are always waking. 

43 



Lovers* Hearts 

When lovers' hands no longer press 

Each other fondly at their meeting, 
Ah, then 'twere better to confess 

The mournful truth that love is fleeting. 
For faithful hands will never let 

The past grow old; there ever lingers 
The warmth of young affection yet 

In the soft pressure of their fingers. 

Oh joyous Youth! When thou art fled, 

Say not that Love, beside thee flying, 
Will leave Devotion cold and dead, 

And Hope despondent, crushed and dying! 
Say rather, that though life be long. 

And all begirt with loss and sorrow, 
Love still shall chant his tender song, 

And Hope still wait the glad tomorrow! 



STOLEN SWEETS 

The Heart is like the honey bee. 

All summer long he hovers over 
The sunlit field, and sips the sweet 

Of wild-rose, thistle-flower and clover; 
Yet garners all at home, and when 

Rose, flower and blossom droop and wither 
His treasure-house is brimming full 

With pilfered store. Then flies he thither, 
And there, beside his chosen queen, 

He recks no more of summer's pleasures, 
But only seeks to heap on her 

The best and sweetest of his treasures. 

44 



THE MOUND 

"What is to love?" I asked the maid 
Whose hand I held as on we strayed 
Through field-flowers high. 
"'Twas you who taught me," answered she, 
"And you should know. What may it be 
But happily to stray Hke this, 
Through Hfe, my hand in yours?" A kiss 
Was my reply. 



"What is to love?'^ I asked my bride. 
She nestled closer to my side 
And whispered low — 
"It is to know that you are mine 
To have and hold and keep; to twine 
For aye and aye about your heart 
And cherish you till death do part — 
Is it not so?" 

God gave another sweet young life 
Into our keeping. To my wife 

Again I said, 
"What is to love?'^ She fondly pressed 
The sleeping infant to her breast 
And said "To suffer and to yield 
One's selfhood up, to guard and shield 

This precious head." 



45 



The Mound 

We knelt one day upon the ground 
Beside a little tear-wet mound, 

Her hand in mine. 
'What is to love?" each asked of each, 
Only this little grave could teach 
God's lesson. Love is not our own 
To give or take, but His alone — 
His best of gifts — . Ah, this is it; 
To love is only to submit 

To His design. 

ACROSS THE TABLE 

A Valentine 
Across the table now and then 

I steal a glance; 

Your eyes perchance. 

Dear Valentine, 

Smile into mine 
And gently fall again. 

God grant that as the years pass o'er, 

Your eyes and mine. 

Dear Valentine, 

May ever meet 

With meaning sweet 
Until they meet no more. • 

And then if part we must awhile, 

God grant that when 

We meet again 

Your eyes in mine. 

Dear Valentine, 
Forevermore may smile! 
46 



HOME'S QUEEN 

Crowned with a sweetness all her own; 
Content to grace a lowly throne; 

With kindly sceptre reigns 

O'er her domains 
The gentle queen of every heart 
That in her little realm has part, 
And such is her mysterious art 

That Love, a willing thrall, 

Comes at her call. 

Small wonder that we yield her thus 
Our homage, for she gives to us 

Full measure, nothing less, 

Of tenderness. 
Rule on, sweet queen. About thy throne 
Thy dear ones gathered fondly own 
Thy sway, and led by Love alone, 

Gladly to thee they bring 

Love's oiTering! 



47 



AT MIDNIGHT 

Twelve strokes of the bell! 
'Tis midnight, and all's well; 
Though dark the night, 
Soon comes the morning light. 

Mark now the dial. Close together lie 

The hands, as if to say, "When thou art nigh, 

The dark is not so fearful." So it is 

When trials come to hearts that love; a kiss, 

A tender clasp, a smile, a word of cheer. 

Beguile the gloom and bring the day more near. 

Twelve strokes of the bell — 
'Tis midnight, but all's well; 
Though dark the night, 
Soon breaks the morning light. 



LASTING LOVE 

Childhood's love is sweet and pure; 

Boyhood's love is warm and earnest; 
Youth's fond love grows only truer 

When the frowns of Fate are sternest. 
Manhood's love is brave and strong; 

Pain and danger curb it never; 
But though life were ages long. 

None of these could last forever. 
48 



Lasting Love 

Married love is best of all; 

Ever patient, ever tender; 
Pure devotion's willing thrall, 

Virtue's proudest, best defender. 
Married love is argus-eyed, 

Watchful, wistful, hopeful ever; 
Hearts in God's own love-knot tied, 

Death itself shall not dissever! 



THE CLOCK STRIKES 

Twelve strokes! 'Tis midnight; but another day- 
Is born as dies the last, yet sleeps awhile 
And waits for dawn. 

I too must go to rest. 
Ah, if I had the cunning to beguile 
From sleep the dream I've wished for, and might stay 
All through the night in that illusion blest; 

I'd meet my love again in some green dell 
Profuse with wild-flowers, merry with the song 

Of mating birds. I'd clasp her close, and press 
To mine again the lips I've missed so long; 
And though the morn must come to break the spell, 
I'd wake remembering that happiness! 



49 



AWAY 

I KISS the little folks goodnight, as one by one they 

pray; 
I'd like to kiss their mother too, — but she's away. 

'Tis not for long; just for a night — no more — she means 

to stay. 
I wish 'twere not so lonesome here, when she's away! 

Somehow as I sit here, I feel the anguish of that day 
When from my sight for the last time she'll go away. 

A foolish fancy! Just a night; 

Tomorrow'U dawn, and then 
My sunshine, missed so wistfully, will come again; 

But oh, the lonesomeness to be, when from my stricken 

door 
My love shall one day hasten out — to come no more! 



SO 



MARCH WINDS 

Blow, March, and if thou crack thy chest 

I shall not mind. 
So that the one I love the best 

Escapes the wind; 
And were thy rudest, bleakest blast 

To rage aroused. 
Within my heart I'd hold her fast. 

All safely housed. 



Blow rather, winds of March, to chase 

Away her cares; 
To dry the tears from her dear face 

With gentlest airs. 
But March, whatever be thy mood. 

Be mine the part 
To keep her, blow thou soft or rude, 

Within my heart! 



March comes again. I bade him blow 

To crack his chest. 
So that untouched he let her go 

Whom I loved best. 
No wind can touch her now, unless 

In Heaven should stir 
Some daring zephyr, a caress 

To offer her. 

SI 



March Winds 

Kiss her for me, Immortal Wind, 

And with it, see 
Thou whisper her to keep in mind 

Fond thoughts of me. 
Blow, March, unchidden. Have thy way! 

Thy buffetings 
I'll bear for her dear sake whose Day 

Thy coming brings. 



MADONNA 

Over and over, The Child and His Mother — 

None like another — 
Look from the walls of my chamber, and keep 

Watch while I sleep. 

She who so loved them has gone from their ken, 

Nor shall again 
Sleep in their keeping, and after the night 

Wake in their sight. 

Gone; but her image is there with the others. 

The beautiful mothers; 
Holding her child in a loving embrace 

Close to her face. 

So shall she too be the guard of my sleeping, 

Tenderly keeping 
Watch of my soul all the night through, and making 

Happy my waking! 



S2 



NIGHT AND MORNING 

Comes there in Heaven a time like night, 

When angels rest, 

And on her breast 

My dear one lays 

Her hands and prays 
For him she used to love the best? 

Ah, if she might! 

In Heaven, when breaks the morning light, 

Does she awake, 

And for his sake 

One moment pause 

And sigh because 
Of that fond kiss he may not take? 

Ah, if she might! 



53 



LOVED AND LOST AWHILE 

'And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile." 

{Lead, Kindly Light.) 

Loved — ah, so fondly loved — thy face, 
Thou cherished one, and lost so long; 

How shall I find it in that place 
So vast, amid that myriad throng? 

Timid and trembling at the gate, 
Faint with the fear of missing thee. 

Hoping, despairing, I must wait 
Unless thou come to welcome me. 

And thou wilt come; thy heart will feel 

The call of mine, and I shall see 
The parting multitude reveal 

Thy face, alight with love for me. 

Come, day of days, or far or near, 
When turns to me its tender smile 

The face, unutterably dear 
That I have loved, and lost awhile! 



54 



FORGIVEN, NOT FORGOTTEN 

"To whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little' 

Perhaps if I were conscience clear 

Of sins remembrance must condemn, 
I should not hold that one so dear 

Who proved her love by shriving them; 
The heart so generous, that was brave 

To bear my hurts of heedlessness; 
So true, that lovingly forgave 

Whatever fault I dared confess. 

"He loveth little," says the Word, 
"To whom but little is forgiven." 
To love unstinted is he stirred 

Whose many sins are freely shriven. 
Such love is mine, and shall be so 
Forever, but my conscience yet 
Rebukes my sins of long ago. 
Which I, forgiven, cannot forget. 



55 



PETITION 

Lord, let me not grow old! 

If years increase, 
Let not my heart turn cold 

Until I cease. . 
And oh, at Thy behest 
Let me with Love be blest 

Till my release. 

To all my dear ones bring 

Love's accolade. 
Cherished and cherishing, 

Let them persuade 
Life's dearest gift from Thee- 
Love, that shall never be 

Dimmed or betrayed! 



A RHYME OF DAYS 

Dear days gone by! 

Remembered with a sigh 

For pledges made and kept; 

For lips that closer crept; 
For love confessed in kisses, long and sweet; 

Fair yesterdays, 

Lost in the purpling haze 

Of the horizon's verge, 

Where memories fade and merge 
In shadowy shapes, as Night and Twilight meet. 

5^ 



A Rhyme of Days 

Imperative To-day — 

Tyrannical thy sway 

As Noon's insistent glare; 

No mortal dost thou spare 
From his appointed task. Thy spurring goad 

Compels him on, 

Whether be lost or won 

The tempting prize 

Thou holdst before his eyes 
To lure his faltering feet along the road. 

To-morrow — shall it be? 

And shall its coming see 

Fulfilment or despair? 

Surcease from crushing care, 
Or greater burdens? Hope and Doubt contend, 

The while the Morrow waits 

The opening of the gates. 

Or this, or that must come; 

Meanwhile, tense lips, be dumb, 
And thou, tempestuous heart, await the end. 

Time, thou art wise 

To hide from mortal eyes 

Thy secrets. Not for me 

To know what is to be. 
I love my memories of yesterday. 

To-day's compelling bond 

Has Morrow's hope beyond. 

Then Time, stay not thy flight; 

I'll bid this world good-night, 
That brighter world good-morning, when I may! 

8 57 



WHEN I PASS ON 

When I pass on, I hope to leave 
Green memories behind me. 

I would not have my dear ones grieve; 

Rather they'd fain the wish achieve 
Some day to come and find me; 

Some day with philosophic mind 

To sense the Beckoning Finger; 
Eager to find what they may find, 
Willing to leave the world behind, 
Without a wish to linger; 

Hoping to meet in the Beyond 

Their loved ones gone before them; 
Giving and taking greetings fond. 
Keen to renew the welcome bond 
Such meeting shall restore them; 

First passing on to those who'll miss 

Their going, some such token 
Of cheer and courage as is this, 
To emphasize the parting kiss 
When "Au revoir" is spoken. 

When I pass on! How I receive 

My call, or when it find me 

I care not, so that no one grieve, 

And so that passing I may leave 

Green memories behind me. 

S8 



FINIS? 

There is no end that does not bring 
Beginning. 

Winter ends in Spring; 
Night's darkness dying meets and blends 
With dawn; the mortal in us ends 
In immortality. 

Not yet 
Failed any ending to beget 
A potent progeny that bore 
Unending generations more. 

****** 
So with my book; may every page 
Be blest with happy parentage 
To fruitful thoughts, provoked by mine 
In some by-passer's mind to shine. 

Thus wishing, let me not pretend 
To say of it, 

"this is the end." 



59 



